


The Killmonger

by nonna



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Baby shuri throughout the years, Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, Erik Killmonger Grows up in Wakanda, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-22 10:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonna/pseuds/nonna
Summary: “You are coming home to Wakanda.” The King said. “And it will be your home. I promise you that, N’Jadaka.”orAn alternate setting where T'Chaka takes Erik home after the death of his father, and Erik grows up in Wakanda.





	1. Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> I am back with a new fanfic! It's been a long time since something really inspired me to get back to writing a fic and God, Erik Killmonger? That man is pure inspiration. 
> 
> I've had this idea for a while, with many different variations that I can follow for this AU. So you're more than welcome to leave some ideas and give me feedback on things you would like to see progressing in this story, because there are so many things we can include! I have a main storyline in order as we follow Erik growing up, but it would be wonderful to incorporate other things that you guys would love to see. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Something felt off. Erik couldn’t explain it, exactly; a heavy feeling sat on his chest, distracting him from the basketball court. He stared at the basket, holding the ball between his hands as he stood in his place. He glanced up to his right, towards the window of their apartment, where he had left his father to finish some work with his friend.

“Erik! You’re carrying!”

His attention snapped back to the game at hand, and he let the ball go, bouncing it a few times before passing it to his teammate. He shook his head. It was nothing. His father and James always handled their work well. There was no reason for him to feel so… _concerned_.

 _But Dad looked so concerned himself_ , he thought. His father was not usually this nervous when preparing for work. Today, however, he had seemed… different. He had urged Erik to go down to the court and join his friends in a game––and not come back up until he came to grab him himself. Which was strange, because ever since Erik had discovered the book and the truth about his heritage, his father had allowed him to join in on a few of their sessions and plans for the vibranium.

 _Now he’s pushing me away again_ , Erik thought grimly. _Either he regrets letting me in on it in the first place, or something else is going on today._

A part of him dearly hoped it was not the latter.

The basketball suddenly hit his chest and fell to the ground, knocking the breath out of Erik’s lungs. He stepped back, throwing his arms up in the air. “What the Hell, man?”

“What the Hell _you_! Come on, bro. If you don’t wanna play then just get out of the game or take a break. You’re ruining the game if you’re just gonna stand there and stare up at the sky.” His friend whined.

“Yeah, you’re lucky we’re even letting you in on this when you freaking suck this much,” one of the older kids said, cracking his knuckles. “Don’t push it.”

Erik rolled his eyes, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Fine! It’s not like I even wanna play with you losers! Jeez!” He exclaimed, aware of his exaggerated tone. He shook his head again, stepping away from the court and towards the apartment building. It was getting late, and his father had still not come out to get him.

Something was _wrong_.

He inhaled slowly, deciding he would go back upstairs anyway. He could just tell his father he was growing worried, or tired. He could not wait downstairs any longer. Plus, it was getting cold, and Erik just wanted to lie down under his warm blanket. It had been a long day.

Before he entered the building, however, he was approached by James. “Erik! Erik, there you are. You need to come with me. Now.”

Erik froze in his place, staring at the man and the two women behind James. The women were clad in red armour, holding large spears, while the man was… the _Black Panther_? What was his uncle doing here? His father had said––his father had said they don’t leave Wakanda, that they would never come out here…

 “Who are you?” He whispered, glaring at the man he knew was his uncle, and stepped back on instinct. “Where’s my dad?”

 “Erik.” That was James. He sounded out of breath. “Your highness, this is––this is Erik. Prince N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu. Erik, why don’t you come here? I was just coming to find you.”

“Why?” Erik asked, leaning closer against the wall. “What’s happening?”

“Are you sure N’Jobu had told him about Wakanda?” T’Chaka asked, eyeing James.

“I know what Wakanda is,” Erik snapped, narrowing his eyes. “Dad told me about it. And I know he’s N’Jobu, and that my real name is N’Jadaka. I’m not stupid.” He took in a deep breath. “What are _you_ doing here? And where is Dad?”

“Erik… You know our job can be dangerous.” James said slowly, glancing between the king and the child. “The men who wanted to buy our supplies… They attacked us. Your father and I.” He winced as the lie formed on his lips. “King T’Chaka and the Dora Milaje had… known about the deal. I had informed them. They came to discuss the deal with your dad but––”

“But what? And how do _you_ know about Wakanda?” Erik snapped again, feeling a burn form at the back of his throat. “Where is Dad?”

T’Chaka eyed James carefully, with what appeared to Erik to be a disapproving look. Something more must be going on here.

“I am Zuri.” James said. “The spiritual advisor for the king.”

Erik’s eyes widened. “So you lied. To my dad?”

“No, no––I just––”

“Where’s my dad?” Erik repeated, his voice growing higher. He fought back against the tears forming in his eyes. “What did you do? What happened to him? Where is he?”

“Erik. Erik!” Zuri rushed to answer, before T’Chaka could utter a word. “They got him. They got him. If King T’Chaka hadn’t arrived when he did, they would have gotten me too. I’m sorry, I’m––”

T’Chaka closed his eyes.

Erik stared at them with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean they got him? I don’t get it.”

Zuri’s eyes watered, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Erik.” His voice broke as he murmured the child’s name.

Erik could not breathe.

He froze for a moment, as the world seemed to come to a pause around him.

Was James implying…?

“Dad!” Erik screamed at the top of his lungs as everything spurred back into life. He rushed past the entourage and into the building. He made it to the apartment in a blur. “Dad!”

His hand shook around the doorknob, as he looked around the apartment, searching for his father. His breathing grew heavier and louder as he stepped inside, searching right and left and––

And there was his father, lying on the ground behind one of the tables.

“Dad!” He screamed again, rushing to his father’s side. He shook him gently, at first. When he received no response, he shook him harder. Blood was pooled around his father’s abdomen, staining through his clothing and into the hardwood floor. Erik shook his head, choosing to ignore it, and shook his father’s shoulders again. “Dad! Can you call an ambulance? James! _Please_ , call an ambulance!”

Zuri let out a soft sob.

“I told you it would be better if we left immediately,” T’Chaka whispered into Zuri’s ear. “How will this child believe us? He will forever blame us for his father’s death.”

“We couldn’t leave him, King T’Chaka.” Zuri whispered back, his voice breaking again. “He’s a good boy. He is a _good_ boy. I would rather live with his wrath than leave him here with no answers.”

T’Chaka exhaled slowly, watching the scene before him unfold. The child was so young, so small, clinging to his father’s lifeless body and wishing for it to spring back to life. This child was an orphan––he had now lost both of his parents––and it was his own uncle’s fault.

How could he ever live with it?

“ _Dad_ …” Erik cried, pulling his father up to his lap and holding him tight. “Dad. Please. Please, don’t leave me, too. Please, you said you wouldn’t let them take you like they took Mama. Please, Dad. _Daddy,_ please. You promised. You promised! And you never break your promises! You promised you wouldn’t leave me!” He let out a loud, heart-wrenching sob. “You _promised_!”

T’Chaka’s heart broke.

Minutes passed, and Erik would not let go of his father. His sobbing died down, however, and he began to catch his breath. He wiped at his tears and the mucus with the back of his hand, sniffing loudly. Then he looked up to Zuri. “You’re alive. You’re alive, at least.”

A tear traced down Zuri’s cheek. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, don’t be.” Erik said, his voice soft. Innocent. “At least you lived. You know who killed him. You know who did this. Was it Klaw? It was Klaw, wasn’t it? He wanted to use Dad for his own good. Traitor.”

Zuri could not bring himself to answer.

“We’ll get him back. We have to.” Erik said, determined. He clutched his father’s lifeless body closer, resting their foreheads against each other, and closed his eyes. “We’ll get him back.”

 

* * *

 

The Wakandan airplane was nothing short of incredulous. But Erik really could not bring himself to focus on any of the cool technology surrounding him. Not when he still clung to his father. He would not let go. He _could_ not let go.

“He never told me you were going to visit.” He whispered, gaze set on his uncle. “He would have told me. At least I think he would. Maybe he just didn’t want to see you. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell me.”

T’Chaka opened his eyes, and looked down at Erik with… sympathy?

He knelt down in front of the child. “How old are you, my child?”

Erik looked at Zuri, then back to the king. “Nine,” he said in a small voice.

“Ah. Only five years younger than my own son, T’Challa.” T’Chaka said softly. He placed a hand on Erik’s shoulder, from which the child flinched. He let it hover for a moment longer over Erik’s shoulder before pulling back. “Has your father told you about T’Challa?”

Erik pulled his father in closer, and nodded. “A little bit.”

“You would make wonderful friends.”

Erik furrowed his eyebrows. He wanted his dad. He didn’t want to be going to Wakanda with his uncle and with James––Zuri. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. His father was supposed to take him back to Wakanda and sit with him over the ledge as they watched the sun set together. He was supposed to introduce him to his family and friends and culture, he was supposed to show him the beauty of the country he called home.

Erik wanted his dad.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Erik murmured. “He was supposed to take me home.”

T’Chaka sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, my child.”

“Don’t call me that.” Erik snapped, despite himself. “I’m not your child. I don’t want to go back to Wakanda with you. I wanna go back with my dad.”

T’Chaka watched him sadly.

“I’m afraid you can’t.”

Erik wiped at his eyes.

 _I know that_ , he thought.

“But you are coming home to Wakanda now.” The King continued. “And it will be your home. I promise you that, N’Jadaka.”

 _My name is Erik._ The child thought, looking away from his uncle.

 

 


	2. A Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa and Erik speak for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the feedback for the first chapter x Now we delve into the story and with less angst and more cute bros T'Challa and Erik! 
> 
> Enjoy xx

Erik was an outsider.

He could feel it. Everyone else felt it, too. Though their gazes were not unkind, they were not exactly friendly, either. The strange child, who dressed up and spoke like an outsider. The Wakandan prince that had never before stepped foot in Wakanda.

His father had been a Wakandan prince, but had given up his place to go out and provide aid to other people in need. He had wanted to help the world, had not agreed to the Wakandans’ way of life. If they had resources, why would they hide them from the world? Why wouldn’t they provide support and backup to those who needed it?

If the king had supported his brother, then perhaps N’Jobu would never have had to turn to the likes of Klaw and the other foreigners who wanted to exploit their resources in secret. His father would have never had to make trades behind his people’s back, would never have had to seek the help of traitors. They could have all worked together to save the world.

But they didn’t.

And now Erik stood, alone, in a foreign land.

A land everyone expected him to call home. A land he was, perhaps, _supposed_ to call home. But how could he ever have a home without his parents? How could he have a home without his father?

In an odd way, it felt as though he was betraying his father by returning to his home. To the home he had promised to bring Erik to _himself_ , to the country he had spoken so highly of despite his disagreements with his family. The country his father had loved.

Erik was there, but without his father… Could he ever call it home?

A lot of people wept during the burial––tears of sorrow for the lost prince, and tears of joy for the lost traitor. Not everyone had approved of N’Jobu’s ways or views, and that much was apparent by the way some people looked at Erik, as though he had betrayed them by simply _existing_. As though he was a living reminder of N’Jobu leaving his home and seeking a life outside of Wakanda. Which did not have to be a bad thing, Erik told himself. N’Jobu leaving Wakanda was _not_ a mistake. He had had noble intentions, and he had never wanted to bring harm to his own people. No, Erik was a living reminder of N’Jobu’s faith in _change_ , not of his betrayal.

Erik stood by one of the large windows, running from floor to ceiling, and stared out at Wakanda. There was no denying that it was a beautiful country, unique in its own ways. It was definitely not a dead desert, which is how Erik had first pictured it (he was not to blame; when did they ever show a picture of actual African cities in the States? Even as an African kid, he had grown up imagining the continent filled with nothing but endless deserts and huts). The large panther towering over the capital city was chilling; it screamed out dangerous _and_ protective. It promised to take down any opponents coming in its way.

 _Maybe one day I’ll be the Black Panther_ , Erik thought, raising an eyebrow. He looked down then, feeling sheepish. _Of course I won’t. King T’Chaka is still alive, and he has T’Challa after him. Not to mention the leaders of the other tribes if they challenge for the title. It’s not my place._

“N’Jadaka, right?”

Erik nearly jumped at the voice, as though he was afraid the other boy had somehow heard his thoughts. He gulped, turning around to face his older cousin. They had briefly met upon his arrival, but had not quite had the chance to really speak. Erik would not leave his father’s side until the burial, and T’Challa was clearly wary of the younger boy.

“Erik. My name is Erik.”

“You prefer to be called such a mundane name when you have the name _N’Jadaka_?” T’Challa mused, scoffing. He crossed his arms, walking towards Erik. “Your name means that you are rich, in our language. Do you speak any Xhosa?”

Erik shuffled his feet nervously. T’Challa was trying to make small talk, and clearly trying to make the situation feel less awkward. Erik could not help feel awkward anyway. “Yeah. I do, actually. Dad taught it to me ever since I was a kid.” He answered, his tone coming out a little harsher than he had intended. He looked down, deciding to try again. “I didn’t know what N’Jadaka meant to be rich, though. That’s cool, I guess.”

T’Challa smiled. “Does the name Erik mean anything?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in some older language it does.”

T’Challa hummed quietly, nodding his head. He uncrossed his arms, and linked his hands behind his back instead. When Erik continued to look down, T’Challa cleared his throat again. “I’m fourteen years old.”

Erik looked up. “I know.”

“And you’re nine.”

“Yeah.”

T’Challa nodded again, his smile falling. He inhaled deeply, though, and smiled again. “Do you want to switch out of your clothes? We have plenty of comfortable clothes that would fit you. Your pants don’t look very comfortable.”

“They’re jeans.” Erik supplied. Then, after a moment, “they’re not that bad. But I guess I could wear something more comfortable. Are you going to make me wear a dress like yours?”

T’Challa sputtered, looking down at his own outfit. “This is not a dress!” He said, heat rising to his cheeks. “It is a tunic. And underneath it, I am wearing very comfortable pants that are _not_ jeans.” He added, pulling up the dark grey tunic and revealing the loose, beige pants underneath.

Erik smiled––for the first time since he had come to Wakanda. “Same thing. It looks like a dress; therefore, it is a dress. I don’t wanna wear a dress. That’s for girls.”

T’Challa pursed his lips, letting his tunic fall back down. “This is not only for girls. This is a royal outfit, with hand embroidered designs fit for the prince of Wakanda.” He pointed to the intricate golden designs lining the neckline and seams of the tunic. “Most girls can dream of wearing something like this.”

“So you admit that girls wear it.” Erik pushed, in childish banter. “Therefore, it is for girls. It is a dress. Prince or not, I’m going to wear something manly. I’m not gonna walk around looking like a chic.”

“You disrespect your own culture?” T’Challa bit out. “Fine. You can carry on with your despiteful _jeans_ and sweaty shirt. But I will have you know, a Wakandan prince does not walk around wearing that.” He smirked. “Not if he wants to demand respect.”

“Why do I even have to wear a dress to get respected?”

“It’s not a dress!”

“It is!”

“And _if_ it is, where is the issue with that? Are you so fragile you refuse to wear something because you don’t want to look like a girl?” T’Challa challenged. “I dreamed to look like the Dora Milaje growing up. I would always beg to dress like them. And they do not even wear dresses, they wear pants as well. Why do you think it is bad to dress like a girl?”

Erik scrunched up his nose, trying to remember who the Dora Milaje were. Ah. The soldiers with the spears. “I don’t. Well,” heat rose up in his cheeks, “you’re not supposed to. In the US, at least. Everyone would make fun of you if you wore this because you’d look like a girl.”

“You are in Wakanda now. And this,” T’Challa pointed to his outfit again, “is what a Wakandan _prince_ dresses like. Do you want to look like an American child, or a Wakandan prince?”

Erik rolled his eyes, turning back to face the window. “Well, I _am_ an American child, aren’t I? Everyone here knows that. It’s all they can see when they look at me. I don’t think wearing a dress would change that, anyway. So what’s the point? Why dress like a Wakandan prince?”

T’Challa bit back his ‘ _it’s not a dress!’_ remark, and instead walked up to stand next to Erik. He looked at the younger boy, who was a little shorter than him. Somehow, T’Challa had the feeling he would not be taller than the other boy for much longer. “Because you are one,” he said. “You are a Wakandan prince.”

Erik tore his gaze away from the panther statue and looked at T’Challa––really looked at him, for the first time. The older boy had a warm smile that reflected in his eyes. He seemed… genuine. Like he really believed Erik was family. That Erik was a _prince_.

“What if I can’t be one?” Erik asked in a small voice. “What if they never see as more than the American boy playing dress-up as a prince?”

T’Challa exhaled slowly, reaching out and placing his hands on Erik’s upper arms. “They never will, if you keep those hideous pants on.”

Erik stared at him for a moment as he processed the words, before finding himself breaking out into laughter. “Come on, they’re not that bad!”

T’Challa rolled his eyes as he pulled away from Erik. “I didn’t say they were bad. I said they were _hideous_.”

“They’re _not_.”

“You could ask Shuri, an infant who can barely sputter a letter, and she would agree.”

Erik scoffed. “Who’s Shuri?”

“Oh. You don’t know?”

“No.” Erik answered. At T’Challa’s look, he stepped back, clearing his throat. “Should I?”

“I suppose your father may not have known. He was gone for eleven years, after all.” T’Challa said, shrugging. “Shuri is my sister. She is a baby.”

“Oh. That’s… cute.”

“She _is_ quite adorable when you look at her. But when she screams? God save us all.” T’Challa groaned. “It makes me want to rip my hair out of my own head. Sometimes, she will not quiet! You can give her a toy, you can carry her, you can dance for her… Nothing. She will continue to scream. It is as if she wants to torture you, and there is no stopping her when she does.”

Erik raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I’m pretty sure all babies are like that.”

“I have seen many babies. None as strong or stubborn as this one. You will see for yourself.”

Erik nodded.

They stood in silence.

“Do you… want to?” T’Challa asked after a while, breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to see her?”

“Oh. I don’t know. King T’Chaka instructed me to stay here for now, so I don’t think I should go anywhere…” Erik began, shaking his head. “I mean, thanks for the offer. I guess?”

“You’re not a prisoner. My father will not be angry if you leave the room and go out to explore Wakanda. Especially not if you are with me.”

Erik inhaled sharply, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He didn’t answer.

T’Challa looked at him promptly.

“What do you want from me?” Erik asked, his voice hoarse.

T’Challa was thrown off guard by the question. He furrowed his eyebrows. “I want nothing _from_ you. I simply want to get to know you and to familiarize you with Wakanda––”

“No, I mean what do you _really_ want?” Erik interrupted, his voice growing louder. This time, his gaze locked with T’Challa’s puzzled one. “You come out here and start talking to me like you _know_ me or like you really consider me family or some crap. Look, obviously you don’t. I’m the son of your uncle, who apparently, according to Wakanda, was a traitor to your father. Are you trying to get something out of me? Do you want me to somehow prove that my father was a traitor? That _I_ was a traitor like him?”

“Of course not, I––”

“Then why are you talking to me?” Erik thundered. “You’re not gonna convince me that you’re trying to welcome me with wide open arms and a warm hug. I’m a prince, like you, and one day I can challenge you for the title of the king if I want to. You can’t pretend to be happy about having me around, about me showing up out of nowhere. So this friendly banter? This warm smile?” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

T’Challa’s lips parted, his eyes widening in shock.

“Don’t do that if you don’t mean it,” Erik added, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to pretend to like me. It’s worse than just… not liking me. And you don’t have a reason to like me, or support my being a prince or whatever. You don’t even _know_ me, so… drop the friendly act.”

T’Challa grit his teeth, his hands forming into fists at his sides. His eyes hardened. “You’re right, I don’t know you.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And perhaps I was wrong in thinking you would appreciate having _someone_ not treat you like an outsider around here. You’re a child, and you are not your father. I thought I could _get_ to know you, and help you feel more comfortable. I thought you would appreciate it.”

Erik felt a lump forming at the back of his throat, and he tried to gulp it down, absently running his thumb over the palm of his other hand. He was unsure of what to say. Had T’Challa really only wanted to… become friends?

 _No one is that nice_. Erik thought. _There’s gotta be something he wants._

When T’Challa realized he would not be getting a response, he added, “I never had a brother. I have had friends who I can almost consider my brothers, but never a brother. I naïvely thought that perhaps… That perhaps I had found one, but I was wrong. My apologies. I will leave you now.”

Erik watched as T’Challa turned around and left the room.

He shut his eyes tightly, fighting back against the tears threatening to fall, and leaned back against the large window. Why did he always do this? Why did he drive everyone away? His mother had left them when he was only four years old––could not handle the pressure of raising a child. He barely had any friends, considering he always managed to get into fights with them and constantly piss them off.

He couldn’t trust anyone.

How could he?

 _Look where that got Dad._ He thought wryly. A tear fell down his cheek, and he gave up fighting it. _He trusted the other men to help him save the world. And they killed him._

_He trusted his country to support him, and they called him a traitor._

_How can I trust **anyone**?_

T’Challa was trying to be nice. He was _joking_ with Erik, he was talking about his family and traditions and… and he welcomed Erik as a _prince of Wakanda_. He welcomed him with a warm smile and good-hearted jokes, and Erik had pushed him away.

He thought Erik could be his _brother_.

Erik wiped at his eyes angrily, shaking his head in disgust. He had ruined his chances with, arguably, the most important person to him in Wakanda. The prince with which he was expected to grow close. His _cousin_.

But Erik had never had family beyond his father.

He didn’t know how to be anything other than a son.

He wasn’t sure he _could_ be.

Letting out a shaky exhale, Erik slid down against the window so he sat on the floor, and wrapped his arms around his knees, curling in on himself.

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, hugging himself tight and thinking about how terrible his life would be now that his father was gone, before the door reopened.

His head snapped up, and he wiped at his eyes again, trying to erase any evidence of having cried for the past half hour, at the least. It must be Zuri, or one of the king’s advisors, coming to fetch him to figure out what they to do next with him.

But it wasn’t.

T’Challa stood in the doorway, hand nervously twisting around the doorknob, and head tilted shyly. He carried something under his other arm. Their eyes met––T’Challa’s cautious ones and Erik’s puzzled ones––and T’Challa spoke up. “Um. Hi.”

Erik raised his eyebrows. “Hey.” His voice sounded congested.

“I know you don’t want to see me, but…” T’Challa carefully stepped inside the room, extending his arm out and revealing a set of a navy tunic and gold pants. “I thought if you wanted to change, you could have an extra set of clothes. In case.”

Erik let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and scrambled up to his feet. He stood awkwardly for a moment, eyes still wide, and nodded. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards T’Challa––who had still not let go of the doorknob––and stood in front of the taller boy. “Thank you.” He whispered.

T’Challa simply nodded, looking away from Erik, and kept his arm extended.

Erik reached for the clean set of clothes, pulling it in close to his chest, and gave T’Challa a small smile. _I’m sorry for lashing out at you like that_ , he wanted to say. _That wasn’t very nice of me. But you still came back and brought me a change of clothes. None of the adults did that._

“It’s a pretty dress,” he attempted, giving T’Challa a small smile.

T’Challa only nodded again, forcing a smile in return, and cleared his throat. “Well. I will get going, then.”

Erik kept his gaze focused on T’Challa, watching as the older boy stepped back outside the room. As he began to close the door, however, Erik found himself asking, “how old is Shuri?”

T’Challa paused just before shutting the door. Erik could hear him take a deep breath before he slowly pushed the door back open. He stood there, watching Erik carefully for a few minutes, before saying: “She’s eight months old.”

 “There’s a big age gap between you,” Erik rasped, before clearing his throat again. Small talk. He could make small talk. “Does that ever bother you?”

T’Challa glanced past Erik and outside the glass windows, tilting his head as he considered the question. “No. Not really. I like knowing that I will be old enough to protect her if she needs it, and to provide her with guidance should she ask. I think I will always see her as the little baby she is now, coddled with the warm blankets and sucking on her thumb.”

Erik nodded, smiling shyly. “She does sound adorable.”

“She really is.”

They stood there for a few more moments before T’Challa added, “If you still want to go see her…”

Erik’s eyes lit up. “If your father wouldn’t mind…”

T’Challa’s shoulders relaxed. “You can change into the cleaner clothes first, if you would like.”

“Oh.” Erik looked back down to the outfit in his arms. “Yeah. Yeah, I should. Can I just use that shower over here?” He asked, pointing to the door of the washroom at the right end of the room. “They told me I could take a shower while I settled in, but no one had brought me clothes, so…”

“Of course.”

Erik ran his thumb over the soft fabric of the tunic, studying it for a moment, before looking back up at T’Challa. “Thank you.” He whispered. “And sorry. About earlier.”

T’Challa’s eyes softened. “You should go shower. You really do stink.”

Erik smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! x


	3. A Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is settling in Wakanda. But he still does not feel at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! x

Erik could not take his eyes off the eight-month-old girl. He couldn’t quite describe the feeling that welled up in his chest at the sight of her; adoration, certainly, but also… protectiveness? This baby, this sweet baby, was his _cousin_. She would grow up to become a princess, she would grow up to face the world…

And the world was _cruel_.

Erik did not want this baby to ever face a cruel world. Not like he had.

“I don’t understand.” He told T’Challa. “How can she be so small? Her hand barely wraps around my finger!”

T’Challa grinned. “She is not very small anymore.”

“She was smaller than this? Man, babies are wild.”

“She is eight months! She can crawl and sit up and eat. When she was first born, she was so small, I was afraid to touch her. I thought I would break her if I laid a finger on her. And then Mama would pick her up and hold her tight, and I would fear for her getting crushed! She could do _nothing_ but stare at everyone.”

“She couldn’t even say Mama?”

“She only started saying Mama and Ba last month.”

Erik raised his eyebrows. “Really? Wow.”

“I remember the first time she laughed. I fell, and nearly started crying, and there she was, laughing as Baba held her in his arms. The first time she laughed, she laughed at _my_ expense. Can you believe that?”

Erik turned back to look at the baby. She was sat up, playing with a stuffed animal and cooing at it. She seemed far too innocent. “This girl? She seems too nice to laugh at her older brother.”

T’Challa smiled, fondly running his hand over his sister’s bushy hair. “She learned to mock me before she even learned to speak or walk. Such is the sibling life, I suppose.” His gaze moved to Erik, and he studied him carefully for a moment before adding, “you will soon become one of her victims, I predict.”

“Me? Nah. She’s gonna love me.” Erik scoffed.

“She shows love by mocking you. You _will_ be her victim.”

“She’s just a baby! She can’t hurt anyone, stop making her sound like a villain.” Erik chuckled, rolling his eyes. He came to regret the words almost immediately as Shuri picked up one of the plastic toys at her side and, quite literally, shot it at Erik.

It hit him square in the jaw.

Erik gasped, momentarily shocked, before picking up the plastic toy and staring at Shuri, who was grinning with her one showing tooth. He turned to T’Challa. “Did you see that? What was that for?!”

T’Challa was attempting to catch his breath, but he could not stop laughing. He wiped at the tears falling from his eyes, and forced himself to regain his composure. “Oh. She loves you already.”

“She’s _evil_!” Erik exclaimed, though he could not stop the smile from forming on his face. He shook his head, rubbing at his sore jaw, and let out a soft sigh. Shuri crawled forward, reaching for the toy in his hands, and he hesitantly handed it back. “But you don’t hit me with it again, okay?” He said, narrowing his eyes. “Not with the plastic one, at least. This shit hurts.”

“Watch your language in front of the infant.” An older voice chimed, drawing the boys’ attention. It was an older woman, clad in a traditional dress and a patterned blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was put up in a vase-shaped bonnet, standing tall above her head. She looked royal.

Erik felt the smile slip from his face, and he drew back and away from Shuri, suddenly conscious of how comfortable he had gotten around the child. He sat up straighter, putting his hands over his lap, and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Mama.” T’Challa greeted, smiling.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her tone sharp but not unkind. “We were worried about you. Last we heard you went to see N’Jadaka, and then you were both missing. You cannot leave like that again, do you understand?”

Erik paled. They had worried about the prince’s safety… because he was with _him_?

“We did not go anywhere, Mama. We were here this whole time. I wanted Erik to meet Shuri.” T’Challa defended, shuffling closer to Erik. How T’Challa had warmed up to him so quickly was beyond Erik, and even more puzzling was why T’Challa was willing to defend him so openly.

“Erik?” The Queen Mother, Ramonda, repeated.

T’Challa turned to Erik expectantly. Erik stared back. Was the prince expecting him to elaborate on his own name? Erik turned his gaze to the ground. “That’s my name, Ma’am.”

“Is your name not N’Jadaka?”

“Yes, Ma’am. That’s my Wakandan name.” Erik supplied. “But my _name_ is Erik. That’s what my Baba called me, that’s what my friends called me.”

“And are you not in Wakanda?”

“I am.”

“So you will use your real name, not your American one.” Ramonda said.

Erik was at a loss with Ramonda; While she did not exactly seem _angry_ with him, she did not seem pleased, either. She was clearly not very happy about his presence. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“ _Mama_ ,” T’Challa said, rolling his eyes. “He can use whatever name he wants.”

“T’Challa.” Ramonda snapped, her eyes narrowing. “I am happy to see that you are getting along with… N’Jadaka.” She did not seem very happy. “But I do not understand why you defend him so.”

 _You and me both, lady,_ Erik thought. He turned around to look at Shuri, who was blabbering with her toys, unaware of whatever was going on around her. A small smile formed on his lips, despite himself.

“He is a Wakandan prince, Mama! Why is everyone _not_ defending him? I see no reason to treat him with hostility. He is a child, not a monster.”

“His father betrayed Wakanda.” Ramonda said evenly, keeping her gaze focused on her son. She did not so much as glance at Erik. “We must take precautions. And you will not bring anyone to see your sister without an adult’s permission next time, do you understand?”

_His father betrayed Wakanda._

Erik felt a sting in his eyes, and he scowled, the heavy feeling suddenly returning over his chest. He looked away from Shuri, the child he was apparently a _danger_ to, and fought the urge to rub at his eyes.

No one would ever see him as a prince.

No one would ever see him as a _Wakandan._

 _Except T’Challa_ , he thought. _But even that might change if they keep telling him that I’m an evil kid who can’t be trusted._

“That is unfair.” T’Challa said, surprising both his mother and Erik. He did not give up the fight. “This is not like you, Mama. You do not see an orphaned child and treat him like he is a threat. You take care of children, Mama. You _have_ children.” He turned to Erik. “My mother is very caring. She is only worried about what happened. Isn’t that right, Mama?”

Ramonda’s eyes softened, and her shoulders dropped, releasing some of the tension she had been holding up. “He is not a threat.” For the first time, she turned to look at Erik. Really look at him––with his oversized Wakandan tunic and his big, terrified eyes. He was a child, Ramonda _knew_ , but everything was not so simple. “And of course we will care for you, N’Jadaka. But there are things…” She inhaled slowly, shaking her head. “There are things we must go over, first. We need to know what you know, what your father taught you, where you stand…”

“Why does it matter? Whatever he learned, he can forget. He will grow up here. With us.”

Erik’s eyes widened. _Forget what I learned?_

Forget what his father had taught him?

 _How could I do that?_ He thought. _How could I dishonour him like that? Just because he saw the world from a different perspective did not mean that he was wrong, or that he was a bad man––he cared for the world, he cared for other people. He had morals, he had a goal––_

Erik stopped, realizing a moment too late that he was speaking out loud.

And that he was shaking.

Ramonda took a deep breath, stepping closer to the two boys, and addressed T’Challa. “Take your sister to bed, will you? And you,” she turned to Erik, “should not run off with T’Challa anymore, do you understand? You will stay where we tell you and you will not cause any trouble.” When Erik nodded, she added, more softly, “Until we can figure everything out. Understood?”

Erik nodded again. He glanced at T’Challa, who was looking at him sympathetically, and shut his eyes. He did not need sympathy. He had just… He had just been happy that someone was so welcoming, was so _nice_ to him––but of course that would have to change. T’Challa was a prince, and he had to follow his parents’ orders. They could not afford to have him hang out with Erik just yet, not when Erik was clearly untrustworthy.

Who knew what ideas he would fill T’Challa’s mind with, right?

“Come with me.” Ramonda said, snapping him out of his thoughts. Erik opened his eyes, staring at the woman who stood over him. “N’Jakada.”

Erik chewed on his bottom lip as he stood up, refusing to look at T’Challa––even when the older boy squeezed his shoulder gently.

“You will be fine,” T’Challa said. Erik could hear the smile in his voice, but he did not bother to actually see it. Instead, he inhaled sharply, looking up at Ramonda, and waited for her to guide him out of the room.

 

* * *

 

“You are a good child, Erik,” James––Zuri––said. “I know that. And everyone else will come to know that, too.”

“Am I only a good child if I pretend like I thought my father was wrong? Like he was a traitor?”

Zuri paused, taken aback by the child’s tone. He ran his hand between the plants of the garden, searching for a spot to plant a new seed. He thought of N’Jobu, and how smart of a man he had been. How kind and caring. And he knew, from the day he met Erik, that the child had taken after his father.

That his father was his idol, his role model.

Could they ever convince him that N’Jobu was not a role model? That Erik should not follow in his footsteps?

Perhaps they could, but they should not force that on him––despite what T’Chaka believed. It had been over two weeks since they had brought Erik back, and the king had believed that the child should immediately be taught that N’Jobu’s motives were wrong and that, while he was a kind man, he _did_ betray his country. He did not want Erik to remember his father’s ways, did not want the child to even speak highly of his father.

It was a little harsh, in Zuri’s perspective. But he could not change the king’s mind, and so he had to follow his ways.

“You will grow to learn the Wakandan way, N’Jadaka.” He settled on saying. “And you will see why we do not agree with what your father wanted to do.”

“But you were with him. I don’t get it. You worked with him, Uncle James. You agreed with him! How are you suddenly talking shit about him, huh? How’re you suddenly all righteous and against everything he did? You were the same. You were on his side.”

Zuri closed his eyes. “Perhaps you will never understand, N’Jadaka, why I had to do it. But I did. For Wakanda.”

“So what? You were pretending to be on his side? And then _he_ died, he got killed by those assholes, and you got away? And now you’re not a traitor, but _he_ died one? How the Hell is that fair?” Erik accused, his voice rising. “Y’all are really a group of messed up people playing saints!”

“N’Jadaka!”

Erik’s mouth snapped shut, and he turned around to see his uncle step into the garden. He cursed his luck; why did the authorities all walk in when he was saying the worst shit? He shook his head, waiting to be reprimanded. That’s all anyone did, anyway.

N’Jadaka, don’t do this! N’Jadaka, don’t do that!

He was starting to hate his Wakandan name and the responsibility that came with it. It was almost as though they expected N’Jadaka to be a completely different person that Erik; the Wakandan prince who should not, in any way, be linked to the American persona.

Well, Erik couldn’t just… become someone else.

“Do not speak to Zuri in that tone.” The king said.

“Yeah. Got it. Maybe I shouldn’t speak _at all_. That’d make everyone happier.” Erik grumbled.

Surprisingly, T’Chaka’s eyes softened. He let out a soft exhale. “N’Jadaka, that is not what I mean. What Zuri did––it was under my orders. He is not the one to blame. What he deserves is your respect.”

Erik nodded, though he did huff in irritation and cross his arms. “Sorry, Uncle James.”

Zuri smiled at him. “You will never drop that name, will you?”

Erik shrugged.

T’Chaka cleared his throat. “I actually came to find you, N’Jadaka.” He said slowly. “T’Challa was looking for you; He really wanted you to watch the football game in the city centre with him tonight. I know we have kept him at a distance from you, but that was not by his choice. He has been constantly asking to see you and to take you around the country. If you are interested in watching the game…”

Erik looked up at his uncle, raising his eyebrows. “Would I be… allowed to go?”

“I believe you would enjoy it.”

Erik let his arms drop to his sides, his anger wilting. “I would… like that.”

“T’Challa is in his room, working on his homework.” T’Chaka said. “Do you know the way to his room?”

Erik shook his head.

T’Chaka reached out. “Then I can take you to him. Come with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that chapter! If you would like to see more of this story, don't forget to subscribe and leave some comments and kudos. And if you want to be part of this story, please do leave feedback on things you like and things you would love to see moving forward!
> 
> You can always message me on tumblr @zenyatta as well.


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